


Wait For Me

by SeaofRhye (orphan_account)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Baby, EMT!Ian, Gallavich, Ian Has His Own Place, Kind of a fix-it, M/M, Mexico, Mpreg, No Trevor, non-graphic birth scene, season 8 didn't happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 01:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19240978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/SeaofRhye
Summary: Ian has lunch in the park one day and finds a homeless, pregnant Mickey hiding from the police. Things are radically different from that point on.





	1. Mickey

If Ian hadn't decided to take his lunch break in the park a little ways from the hospital, none of this would have happened.

One minute he's relaxed, enjoying an roast beef sandwich and breathing in the early spring air, and the next he turns to see a teenage girl with green-streaked brown hair striding towards him.

"Hey, officer?"

He puts his sandwich down. This happens a lot--people see the navy uniform and just assume. "No, I'm actually--"

She ignores him. "There's a homeless guy masturbating or something on that bench." She points to the bench a few yards down from him, where a shape is huddled. Ian feels a twinge of sympathy for whoever that guy is.

"Could you, like, make him stop?" the girl continues, wrinkling her nose. "It's really gross."

Ian considers telling her that's not his job and that she should call the actual police, but what the hell, he's dealt with plenty of homeless people before. Most of them are either in need of medication (he can relate) or have been living outside so long they've kind of lost their sense of what's socially acceptable. Either way, he knows what to do.

"Yeah, I'll talk to him," Ian says, bagging the remainder of his lunch. "Thanks, ma'am."

She gives him a dirty look for the "ma'am," but keeps walking. With a sigh, Ian stands up and walks toward the bench, turning on his intercom in case he ends up needing back-up. There's no telling if this person is on or coming down off of a bad drug trip, and he's seen EMTs get seriously hurt. 

"Excuse me, sir?" he says, stopping a few feet away. "Are you all right?"

The huddled shape unfolds, and he sees a dirty grey hat topping a face that he's tried two years to forget about. 

No. It can't be.

"Mickey?"

Mickey squints in his direction. "Gallagher?"

Ian's floored. Everything around him seems to disappear, and his first instinct tells him to run to Mickey and--and do what? Hit him? Make sure he's okay? Call for back-up? He can't think straight. 

"What...what are you doing out here?" Ian stammers, taking another step forward. "You were...did you break out of prison?"

"No fucking duh," Mickey says, half sitting up. "What are you doing here?"

Ian's mouth has gone so dry he can barely speak, but Mickey sees his uniform jacket and smirks. 

"Nice threads, man.You look hot."

Mickey doesn't look hot at all. He's unshaven, his hair is uncut and hanging down his neck, and his face is pale and puffy. But what did Ian expect, that he'd escape from prison and still be able to shower whenever he wanted?

"Mick, y-you can't be here," Ian stutters. "I-I need you to leave. Just...just go somewhere else and I'll meet you after work, okay? I want to help you, but...I can't right now."

"Gallagher, relax," Mickey says gruffly. "This ain't a rom com, I'm not here to get you back."

That much he believes, anyway. Mickey was never very good at romance.

"There's a shelter down the street," Ian says, pointing in what he hopes is the right direction. "You can go there."

"Nah," Mickey says, rubbing an eye. "I kind of overstayed my welcome. They kicked me out."

"Okay, fine. Um...well, there's also--"

He stops when Mickey lets out a groan and doubles over. Ian's training comes back to him and he runs over to Mickey's side. 

"What's wrong? Where does it hurt?"

Mickey's got an arm wrapped around his stomach, which even with the heavy winter coat he's wearing looks distended. 

"Mick, I need you to talk to me," Ian urges him. Mickey just shakes his head and grips the slats of the bench so hard that his knuckles go white. Whatever kind of pain he's in, it's intense.

Ian turns on his intercom. "EMT Gallagher requesting back-up. White male, mid-twenties, experiencing severe abdominal pain."

"The fuck are you talking to?" Mickey pants after a few seconds, slowly letting go of the bench.

"EMTs, they're on their way with an ambulance right now," Ian tells him, crouching down so they're eye-level with each other. "Mick, what's going on with you?"

"Fucking nothing," Mickey grunts, edging away from him. "Leave me alone, Gallagher, I'm fine." 

"You're not fine," Ian says sternly. "And I'm not leaving until the ambulance gets here and we've checked you out. Now, can you take off your coat for me?"

Mickey leers. "Why, you wanna--"

"See what's wrong with your stomach," Ian interrupts. "Seriously."

Mickey seems reluctant, but he slowly undoes the buttons and Ian almost falls back on his heels when he sees what's really wrong with his ex-boyfriend.

"Oh, shit."

***

It takes the EMTs about ten minutes to get to them, and in that time, Ian and Mickey have somehow managed to come up with a story to prevent Mickey from being taken back to prison as soon as he's out of the hospital. He uses a fake name, tells the EMTs he's been homeless for a year, and Ian vouches for him, saying he's seen him around before. Nobody really cares at the moment, as they're busy with blood pressure cuffs and tons of medical questions for Mickey about his...

...pregnancy. Jesus Christ, Ian still can't believe it. How did this happen? How did Mickey get pregnant? Who's responsible for this?

He doesn't get to ask any of these questions until he's alone with Mickey in his hospital room a few hours later. He's left work early, so he just sits in a chair by the bed while Mickey sleeps. He's not family, and the doctors won't tell him anything beyond the fact that he's dehydrated, at least thirty-four weeks along and was having Braxton-Hicks contractions. He "should be fine," but Ian knows that's bullshit. How is any of this fine?

He calls Mandy and leaves a message (without mention Mickey's name, just to be safe) and he's waiting to hear back. She must know about this...or maybe she doesn't. He's been out of the Milkovich loop for two years, so who knows whether Mickey's kept in touch with her. 

In the meantime, he keeps staring at Mickey's belly. It's like a magnet. He can't fully comprehend there's a baby in there. An almost full-term one, too. It's a miracle it's survived everything Mickey's probably put it through. 

Definitely a Milkovich, Ian thinks, smiling in spite of himself. Kid's already learning how to deal with the worst.

But really, he can't imagine how Mickey could be any more fucked. No home, no job (at least not a legal one, if he knows Mickey) no way to raise a kid. This baby will probably end up in foster care as soon as it's born. Unless the other dad shows up and wants custody, but somehow Ian can't see that happening.

Mickey slowly opens his eyes and sees Ian. He smiles. 

"Hey."

"Hey," Ian replies automatically. "How're you feeling?"

"Awesome," Mickey says dryly. "First time I've slept in a bed in weeks." He raises his left arm and sees the IV drip. "The fuck's this for?"

"You're dehydrated," Ian explains. "They're going to discharge you as soon as you're okay."  
Mickey sighs. "Fucking great."

After a long moment of silence, Ian clears his throat. 

"You don't have to tell me, but--"

"It's not yours," Mickey interrupts. "Don't worry about it."

Ian's taken aback. "I know it's not mine. We haven't seen each other in two years."

Mickey shrugs. "Twenty-one months, but who's counting?"

Ian hears the tension in his voice. "Look, Mick, you can stay with me for a couple days. But the longer you're in here, the better the chances that someone's going to tell the police. You don't want to go back to prison."

"I don't?" Mickey fires back. "I dunno, man. At least there I got a bed, three meals a day, and a doctor who could at least do a pregnancy test right. Sounds like a better deal than wandering the streets knocked up." He brushes a hand down his belly. "And hey, at least the kid would be with both their parents. Guards get good health insurance, right?"

That tells Ian everything he needs to know, and his stomach clenches. 

"Mick...I'm sorry."

Mickey shrugs again. "Forget it."

Ian glances at the door. "Look, I called Mandy because they wouldn't tell me anything. Do you two still keep in touch?"

Mickey scrubs his hands over his face. "She doesn't know about this. You didn't tell her, did you?"

"Why doesn't she know?" Ian demands, avoiding the question. "Mick, she'd help you out, she might--"

"I don't want her to!" Mickey snaps. "She's got her own life now, she doesn't need to be raising some fucking kid, especially if it's not hers."

Ian connects the dots. "You haven't seen her in months, have you? What, did you just take her off your visitors' list?"

"Shut the fuck up, Gallagher!" Mickey yells. "You're not my boyfriend anymore, I don't owe you any fucking explanations! I was in prison, I got knocked up, I broke out. And nobody knows.You happy now?"

It's not the full story, Ian can tell, but there's no use trying to pump Mickey for more information. 

A nurse pokes her head in the door, frowning.

"Everything all right in here? I heard yelling."

"We're fine," Ian says quickly. "It was nothing."

She steps into the room to check Mickey's IV, and they avoid looking at each other while she does.

"Nearly done here," she says, adjusting the bag. "Still feeling light-headed?"

"Nah," Mickey mutters. 

"Good. I'll let the doctor know."

She leaves, and Ian turns back to him. 

"Seriously, you can stay with me. My roommate's out of town for a week, he won't care."

Mickey has one arm over his eyes. "Jesus, Gallagher, when did you become such a Good Samaritan?"

Ian can't help cracking a smile. "Since I passed my exam."

Mickey snorts.

***

Once they're back at Ian's place, Mickey immediately falls asleep on his bed without even getting under the covers. Not that Ian would want him to, that would be...kind of weird. Because they haven't slept together in any context for almost two years, and...

He tries not to think about that while he gives Mandy another call, only to have it go directly to voicemail, and lets her know that "a friend" is staying with him. She'll put it together, he hopes.

In the meantime, he has to figure out what to do about his fugitive ex who has nowhere else to go and could still end up back in prison at any time. Hell, they might only have a few hours before the police are knocking on Ian's door, arresting him for aiding and abetting. 

He makes himself dinner, trying to come up with a feasible plan. He decides that if Mandy hasn't contacted him by tomorrow, he'll work something else out with Mickey. Maybe there are people who can help him out, get him somewhere safe. 

Mickey shuffles out of the bedroom, sniffing.

"Is that chicken? Can I have some?"

Ian makes a plate for him, and Mickey scarfs it down like he hasn't eaten in days. Come to think of it, that's probably true. Ian pours him a glass of water, too. He has to stay hydrated.

"So, uh, I'll be out of here in a couple days," Mickey says, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "I know someone who's heading to Mexico, and he said he'll take me with him. Best thing to do, right? I can't hang around here."

Ian's surprised. He didn't think Mickey actually had a contingency plan, and a thousand objections come to mind before he realizes that this is probably the best Mickey can do right now--just leave, go somewhere where the American police can't follow, and start a new life. 

"When?" Ian asks in spite of himself. He can feel a warning bell go off in his head, telling him not to do it, not to fall back into this world. He may not live in the Southside anymore, he may be a respectfully employed member of the working class, and he might even save lives every now and then. But that can all be gone in a second. He knows that too well.

But. It's Mickey. 

"Soon as I can," Mickey says, washing down the sandwich with a gulp of water. "Before I pop, anyway. Can't be squeezing this kid out while I'm crossing the border." He frowns. "Would that make it an anchor baby?"

Ian grimaces both at the term and the visual. He hasn't asked exactly how Mickey's going to give birth, and frankly he doesn't want to know just yet.

"So you've definitely decided on not going back to prison?" he says, just for something to say. Mickey scoffs at him. 

"Fuck no, man. I was kidding." 

"Even about..." Ian glances at Mickey's stomach. "The guard?"

Mickey's face closes up, and he rubs a hand over his belly. 

"It wasn't what you think," he says in a low voice. "He was nice. Redhead, like you."

For some reason, hearing this makes Ian hot with anger. He turns away and tosses his plate into the sink. 

"What, you jealous?" Mickey asks. "C'mon, Gallagher, you know what it's like in there." 

"Then how do you know he's the dad?" Ian says, turning back around. Mickey still won't look at him.

"Does it matter? The kid won't know who the guy is anyway. We'll be in Mexico by then."

"What if you're not?" Ian pushes. "What if you get caught or go into labor early? What are you gonna do then?"

"What's with the fucking third degree?" Mickey fires back. "Mexico's the only plan I got. Kid'll just have to stay put until then."

He glances around. "Where's your bathroom?"

Ian points to the left, and Mickey heads in that direction, leaving Ian alone with his thoughts once again.

***

It's a pretty ordinary weekend, except for having Mickey around. 

Ian doesn't have another shift until Monday, so he goes for a run, does a load of laundry, vaccuums, and does paperwork. Mickey mostly watches TV, sleeps, and eats half of the things in Ian's fridge. Ian would be annoyed if he didn't know that Mickey needs the nutrition more than he does right now.

He keeps himself busy until Saturday night, when he has plans with some work friends, and finds himself reluctant to leave Mickey alone. But it's not like he can ask him along, either. 

He leaves Mickey his phone number and tells him to call only in case of an emergency. Mickey nods, turns up the volume on the TV, and seems happy to stay put on the couch. 

Ian is actually glad to be out of the apartment, but about an hour in he misses Mickey. He wishes things were different and they could be a normal couple, signing up for Trivia Nights and catching up over drinks. Seeing his friends with their partners makes him feel lonely. It's been a few weeks since he and Trevor ended things, and he still misses him a little.

But not, a voice in his head reminds him, nearly as much as he missed Mickey. Not even close.

That's different. Mickey's a fugitive, heading to Mexico, pregnant with some other guy's baby. There's nothing Ian can do about any of that.

So why does he want to?

***

Ian gets back a little earlier than he meant to, and finds Mickey in his bed, under the covers this time. Resigning himself to a slightly awkward night, Ian changes into his usual sleep shirt and shorts and climbs under the covers. 

He immediately realizes what a mistake this is. All the memories of sharing a bed with Mickey come flooding back, and he finds himself instinctively curling towards him. Mickey's warm and smells almost exactly the same, and Ian has to force himself to turn over and face the wall.

He can't let Mickey distract him from his job, his life, everything he's worked so hard for. That's what he tells himself, because he doesn't want to think about what'll happen when Mickey's over the border and he can never see him again. 

Well then, what the hell? If this is the last night you ever spend with him, might as well make it count.

"Mick?"

"Mm?"

Ian touches his shoulder. "You awake?"

"Yeah." Mickey turns over slowly. "You wanna?"

Ian blinks. "Uh, I guess, but--"

"Hold on," Mickey grunts, pushing himself up. "Bathroom." 

He leaves and Ian lies there, mind racing. Sex would be great, especially since he hasn't had any in over a month, but he didn't mean to imply that was all he wanted from Mickey. He wants to talk. There are things he wants, needs, to say to him, especially if they won't be together much longer.

He sits up, turns on the bedside lamp on his side, and waits for Mickey to get back from the bathroom. 

"You got lube?" Mickey says when he returns, and raises an eyebrow when he sees that Ian's still clothed. "What's up? I thought you wanted--"

"We need to talk."

Mickey groans, sinking back onto the bed. "Fuck, Ian. I'm tired. Can we do this pissed-off ex thing later?"

"I'm not pissed off," Ian says. "I just need to say some things."

Mickey re-adjusts the pillows he's bunched behind his back. "Okay, say 'em."

Ian tries to figure out where to start. "I like my life. I've got my shit together. I had a boyfriend for a while, a couple of them, actually, and I'm happy. I don't want to throw all that away."

Mickey looks at him. "I'm not askin' you to."

"I know," Ian replies, even though it doesn't feel that way. "But you're here, and you've got a kid, and you're going to be gone again and I just feel like..." He trails off for a second. "Like you wanted me to find you in that park the other day. Like you wanted my help."

Mickey doesn't immediately contradict him, which is pretty telling. 

"Yeah, maybe I did," he says after a minute. "I wasn't trying to go all stalker on you, but...I saw you there before, and I thought maybe I'd take a chance, get your attention. Wasn't planning on the fake labor pains, though, that just happened."

Ian shakes his head. "Mick, all you had to do was talk to me. I'm not the police, I wouldn't have turned you in." 

Mickey shrugs. "I couldn't risk it, man."

They're quiet for a few more minutes, until Ian remembers another burning question he has.

"So...what are you going to do when the baby comes?"

Mickey runs his hands slowly over his bump. "I wish I knew. Sometimes I think I could do it, y'know? I did an okay job with Yevgeny before he and Svetlana left. Other times I think, fuck that, I'm not ready to be a single parent. But I don't want this kid ending up in some shitty foster care home, either. Any way I look at it, it's pretty fucked."

Ian looks at him. He's changed in some ways, and not just physically. He's quieter, more beaten down, not like the loud-mouthed, take-charge guy he was before he went to prison. Ian's not sure if it's the lack of choices facing him now or the extremely daunting prospect of starting over in a new country, potentially as a single father, with no support system in place. If it were Ian, he'd been panicking right now.

But it's not him. It's Mickey, and even if he never admits it out loud, he needs help.

"Okay," Ian says finally. "What can I do?"


	2. Mia

They talk for at least another hour before they're too tired to stay awake. Ian's going to withdraw some money from his savings account (not too much, though.) Mickey knows where to get a fake passport and a car, and says he can take care of the rest. 

Over the next few days, Ian can't think about anything but whether or not he's doing the right thing, helping Mickey. He's glad to do it, but is it enough? Mickey's going to be all on his own, taking care of a baby he's not even sure he wants to keep, in a country where he knows no one and will probably end up dealing drugs to make money. 

He knows that anyone in his family would tell him to give Mickey the money, wish him well, and say goodbye. Let him take care of himself, baby or no. It's not like it's even his to worry about. Then he can go back to his life with a relatively clear conscience and the knowledge that he did his best, more than somebody else might have done, for the man he used to--does love. Will always love. 

So he does a little bit more. By the time Mickey's found a car, Ian's put together an extra bag full of baby supplies like formula, wipes, diapers, and a couple of onesies. Mickey's definitely going to need this stuff.

Ian meets him at the assigned spot, and is surprised when Mickey's already there standing next to a grey Jeep, looking unhappy.

"My buddy bailed," he says as a greeting. "So, uh...either I'm making this trip solo or...you wanna come with?"

Ian knew he'd ask. His throat gets tight and he looks away. 

"Mick, I...." He doesn't know what to say, so he hands him the bag of baby supplies. "I got you some stuff."

"Going-away presents?" Mickey laughs, then opens the bag. "Oh." He gives Ian a smile. "Thanks, man. Really. For everything."

And that's it. Ian closes the distance between them and kisses Mickey. It's supposed to just be a goodbye kiss, but Mickey drops the bag and curls his hands around Ian's neck. In a matter of seconds they're backed up against the side of the car, making out like no time has passed.

By the time they come up for air, Ian's head is spinning. 

"Look, uh....just take care of yourself," he says, hands on Mickey's waist. He lets them drift to Mickey's belly. "I wish this was mine." 

He didn't mean to say it out loud, but Mickey puts his own hands over Ian's. "Me, too."

Ian can't meet his eyes, so he leans in a little towards the bump. "Be good for your dad," he says to the baby, and Mickey chuckles. "He's going to need all the help he can get."

And that's when he knows what he has to do.

***

It's only until Mickey can make it across the border. And maybe for a couple of days after, just to keep an eye on him. But that's it--Ian's not staying. He makes that very clear, but he can tell Mickey's still holding out hope he'll change his mind.

The next few days are like living in some kind of alternate reality. They take turns driving, listen to the radio, eat a lot of junk food, pull over at Route 66 to have sex (something they've always wanted to do long before now,) and sleep under the stars. It's like time has no meaning but is also going by too fast, because the closer they get to the border, the less Ian wants to leave Mickey.

The third day of driving, Mickey seems restless. They pull over a lot more for bathroom breaks, and Ian's starting to get concerned. 

"I'm fine," Mickey says before he can ask. "Kid's just right on my bladder."

Ian has only taken one class in how to deliver a baby, but he remembers something about how babies "drop" shortly before labor starts, and he hopes to God this isn't what that means. They have one more day still to go. 

Mickey can't get comfortable in his seat, so they stop again so he can stretch out in the back. He naps fitfully for the rest of the afternoon. Ian keeps glancing at him in the rearview mirror, instinct telling him that things are getting down to the wire. He wants to drive faster, but the last thing they need is to get pulled over.

Around six, Ian pulls over to take a leak and wake Mickey up for some dinner. He hasn't eaten much today.

"Hey, Mick," he says, gently shaking his shoulder. "Time to eat."

Mickey bats him away. Ian's about to turn away when he hears Mickey groan, just like he did that day in the park. His heart rate jumps, but he remains calm. 

"Hey," he says, leaning back over him. "Braxton-Hicks?"

Mickey nods, jaw clenched. "Mm."

"Want some water?"

Mickey shakes his head once, then relaxes after a few more seconds. "No...no, I'm okay. We got food?"

That makes Ian feel better, and he hands him a slightly spotted banana and some beef jerky from their grocery bags. They eat, and Ian turns on the radio, but Mickey tells him to turn it off. He keeps shifting around in the backseat, and Ian's getting worried. 

"You okay?"

Mickey grimaces. "I can't get comfortable. My back's trying to kill me."

Ian looks over at him. "Want me to give you a backrub?"

Mickey would normally grin at him for something like that, but this time he just nods. "Yeah, can't hurt. Go ahead."

Ian climbs into the backseat and gently pushes Mickey so he's leaning against the locked door. He slides his hands under Mickey's shirt and presses low on his back. Mickey lets out an appreciative moan.

"Oh, fuck, yes, Gallagher. Keep doing that."

Ian smirks, and obliges. It's not a prelude to sex, but it's almost as good. He's glad he can make Mickey feel better this way. It can't be easy for him. 

After a few minutes, Mickey's head goes down and he tenses again. Ian stops the massage when he feels Mickey's back muscles harden, and tentatively puts a hand on Mickey's belly when he hears him groan. The muscles are rock-hard there, too, and everything Ian learned about labor tells him this just might be it.

"Mickey?" he says. "How far apart are the contractions?"

Mickey doesn't answer--can't seem to answer, in fact--for about twenty seconds (Ian counts in his head,) and finally the tension eases off and he glances over at Ian, panting slightly. 

"Wha--what? They're not contractions, it's just fake, like last time."

"I...don't think so," Ian says cautiously. "You've had back pain, haven't eaten much today, you said the baby feels like it's right on your bladder, which could mean it's dropped, and that contraction was bad enough that you couldn't talk through it."

"Who are you, Dr. House?" Mickey snaps. "That doesn't mean anything. I'm not in labor. I would fucking know if I was."

Ian doesn't want to get into how he could possibly know that, but shrugs. "All right, fine. Then we can just time the contractions for about an hour. If they're regular and get closer together, we're in trouble. If they're irregular and ease off before then, we're good. Okay?"

Mickey shifts back into a sitting position. "How are we supposed to time them?"

"I'll use my phone," Ian answers. "You should rest. Let me know whenever you feel pain, okay?"

Mickey sighs, long and exhausted, and Ian feels deeply sorry for him. Neither of them want to face the prospect of a long labor and imminent delivery, but the baby might have other ideas. 

"Fine," Mickey says, lying back on his side and resting his head in Ian's lap. "But it's not labor."

***

It's labor.

Ian checks his phone every time Mickey groans or tenses up, and after an hour, it's safe to say that the pain is regular enough that it probably isn't anything else.

"We're going to have to find a hospital," Ian says, using his phone data to start Googling any nearby. 

"Fuck that!" Mickey grunts. "They'll call the police and cuff me to the bed. Then what'll happen to the baby? Think they're just gonna hand it to you and let you go?"

He's right. Ian hates that he's right. The part of him that spent months training for his job tells him that doing this out in the desert with barely any medical supplies and only basic training is a disaster waiting to happen. The part of him that loves Mickey and is starting to love this baby, even if it's not his, tells him that the best thing for all of them is to not involve the cops. 

"Okay," he says, reluctantly putting down his phone. "But if anything gets out of control, we're going to the nearest hospital. I'm not letting you die."

Mickey grins at him. "I'm not gonna."

***

The rest of the night is long. They push the backseat down and use their blankets to make a bed. Ian curls up behind Mickey, gently massaging his back whenever he has a contraction. They sleep in snatches and every time Ian wakes up, it feels like he's dreaming. None of this seems real, except for when Mickey grabs his hand or his breathing changes. Ian tries to show him how to breathe deep and even to help with the pain, but all he gets is "Shut the fuck up!" in response. 

Around two in the morning, Ian wakes up to find that Mickey's gotten out of the car and is walking around outside. He opens the nearest side door. 

"Hey, you okay?"

"Couldn't stay lying down anymore," Mickey says, hands pressed against his back. "This is better."

Ian gets out of the car and leans against the side, gazing up at the sky. The stars are incredible. It's so easy to forget how many there really are, especially living in Chicago. 

"Do you need anything?" he calls to Mickey, who's still pacing. 

"An epidural would be nice," Mickey calls back. "You got one?"

Ian smiles wryly. "Fresh out, sorry."

"Go back to sleep," Mickey says after a minute. "I'm okay."

Ian doesn't think he can sleep, but he gets back in the car and watches Mickey through the window until he starts to feel tired again.

***

"Ian. IAN!"

Ian bolts up, feeling Mickey shaking him. "What? What's wrong?"

Mickey's tugging at him from the half-open window, still outside the car. He looks terrified. 

"My fucking water broke! What do we do?"

Ian's barely conscious, but he didn't ace his exams for nothing. Time to work, he tells himself, just like he does before he gets into an ambulance. Panic, fear, dread, all of that gets shoved aside because right now, someone needs his help. 

He opens the door and helps Mickey inside. "Okay, when did this happen?"

"About two minutes ago," Mickey replies. "I thought I'd peed myself." 

"That's normal," Ian says automatically. "Are the contractions more intense?"

"I haven't had another one yet," Mickey says, rubbing his belly nervously. "Do they get worse?"

Ian hesitates, and Mickey seems to know what that means.

"Fuckin' great," he moans. "I hate this." 

"I know. The good news is, we're more than halfway there. You should be having it soon."

***  
Ian's pictured his life going in a lot of different directions over the years. But he never, even in his craziest fantasies, pictured himself delivering his ex-boyfriend's baby in the back of a stolen car in the middle of the desert. 

"Mickey, you can do this," Ian keeps saying like it's a mantra. "You're so close."

"Fuck off!" Mickey yells back in between pushes. Ian doesn't take it personally, mostly because he's too focused on checking to see if the baby is crowning yet.

"There it is!" he announces after a few more minutes. "I see the head, Mick! You're doing great!"

"Yeah?" Mickey pants. "Is...is it almost over? Can I stop?"

"No, you gotta keep going," Ian says, gently stroking Mickey's leg. "I'm sorry."

"Fuck it." Mickey leans his head back and closes his eyes. "I can't. I need to stop."

"You can rest, but you can't stop," Ian reminds him. "Mick, the baby's almost here, but it needs you to keep pushing. You can't just keep it inside."

Mickey shakes his head, eyes still closed, and Ian can see how scared he is. Mickey doesn't scare easily, and he's also the stubbornest person Ian knows. He has to get him motivated again, because there are very real risks to delaying the birth. 

He shoves Mickey's legs aside, scooting closer until he's inches from his face, and takes Mickey's head in his hands. 

"Listen to me. You're Mickey fucking Milkovich, the toughest motherfucker in the Southside. You've never pussied out in your life, and you're not going to start now. All you need are three or four good pushes and that baby's out of you."

Mickey leans in slightly, grabbing the back of Ian's head. "I fucking know."

Oh. So that's what he's scared of. Ian changes his tactic and kisses him, slow and gentle.

"I'm right here," he says softly. "I'm not going anywhere. We're going to do this together, okay?"

He's isn't sure whether he means right now or for the rest of their lives, but either way he means it. Mickey finally nods, and starts pushing again so hard that Ian has to tell him to slow down or he'll hurt himself. 

About ten minutes later, it's over. Ian's crying as he's holding up a screaming, extremely healthy-looking baby girl, and Mickey's looking like he can't believe what just happened.

Ian goes into autopilot. He makes sure the baby's airway is clear, cuts the cord, and wipes away as much blood and vernix as he can. He hands her to Mickey, who's shaking so much he can barely hold her. Ian puts the cleaner blanket over both of them. 

"Take your shirt off," he suggests. "Skin to skin contact is important."

Mickey gives him a weak smile. "I just had a baby and you wanna see me naked?"

"Believe me, I saw a lot more than that," Ian jokes, adrenaline still coursing through him. "It'll help her bond with you."

Mickey tugs down his shirt and Ian helps position the baby so she's resting against his bare skin. She calms down quickly, and Mickey keeps stroking her tiny head and back. 

"I knew she'd be a redhead," he says proudly. 

"She's beautiful," Ian says, sitting next to him. "Got a name for her?"

Mickey shakes his head. "I didn't bother thinking of any. I thought..." He trails off for a second, then looks at Ian. 

"I don't want to give her away, man. I really don't."

Ian nods. "Okay. You don't have to."

Mickey turns his attention back to his daughter. "You think she looks like a Mia?"

"Yeah, that's pretty. Where'd you hear it?"

Mickey grins at him. "It kind of sounds like our names put together. Mickey, Ian, Mia. Get it?"

Ian laughs. "It's great, Mick. I love it."

"I love you."

Ian is actually surprised to hear him say it, though he doesn't know why he should be. They kiss again, and when the kiss ends, Ian leans in to smell Mia's head, which makes him smile. 

Everything's going to be okay. He doesn't know how yet, but he truly believes it will be.


	3. Mexico

Four days later, they're in Mexico, in a hotel room that's paid up for the rest of the week while they do some apartment-hunting.

It was nerve-wracking crossing the border, but Mickey was very convincing as Ian's "girlfriend" (thanks to his disguise and the presence of baby Mia) and the story of how she was born literally on the side of the road earns them a quick wave-through. 

They've managed to get Mia and Mickey to a doctor, who gives them both a clean bill of health. Ian calls work to let them know he's using up a few more vacation days, but doesn't say why, and texts Fiona and Lip a quick update. He's going back soon, anyway. 

Today, he's giving Mia her morning bottle of formula so Mickey can sleep in a little. He's watching the sun rise and he can see the beach from their hotel window, and he thinks he really could get used to this. He could live here, helping to raise this precious little girl who has Mickey's eyebrows and chin, and hair that's red enough to match Ian's already. He and Mickey could be together. They could make a life here. 

But not yet. Ian's not ready to say goodbye to everything back home, and he knows there are things he needs to do before he's able to be a father to any kid. As far as Mickey's concerned, Mia's as good as his, but they both know that's not true. 

Good thing there are ways--legal ones--to change that. 

He feels an arm around his waist and turns to smile at Mickey, who's looking at Mia. He's barely taken his eyes off of her since she was born. 

"How is she today?" he asks, and Ian lifts her onto his shoulder once she pulls away from the bottle. 

"Good," he replies, patting her back. "She should probably have a bath, though."

"I'll do that," Mickey says, gently stroking her head. "I got this, right, baby girl?"

Ian knows he's saying that as much to convince himself as Ian. He's been nervous as hell about taking care of her by himself, so Ian's putting out feelers for a reliable nanny to help him out once he's got a place to stay.

Mickey suddenly pulls back. "Oh, shit."

Ian stares at him. "What? Are you okay?"

"It's sunny out."

Ian glances at the window. "So?"

"She needs sunscreen!" Mickey says, panicking. "She's a redhead like you! Do they even make baby sunscreen? Can I put it on her? What if she, like, swallows it? That stuff is toxic!"

"Mick, it's okay," Ian says soothingly, putting his free hand on his shoulder. "Yes, there's baby sunscreen. You can start using it when she's about six months old. Until then, just keep her covered up when you go outside. She'll be fine."

"Really?"

"Really."

Mickey sighs. "Thanks, man. God, I'm a fucking trainwreck."

"You're not," Ian assures him, handing Mia over to him. "You're a new dad. I'm pretty sure this is normal."

Mickey scoffs, holding Mia closer. "Nothing feels normal. And I mean nothing. I'm sore in places I didn't know I had, thanks to her."

"We can get you some ice packs when we look at places today," Ian says, heading for the sink to turn it on and adjusting the (pretty cheap, but it was all they could find) plastic bassinet for Mia's bath. Once it's full of reasonably warm water, he lets Mickey take over and starts microwaving some breakfast burritos. 

After breakfast, when Mia's clean and in a new onesie, Ian helps Mickey settle her into her carrier and they head out the door.

***

"This is the one."

Mickey's looking around like he couldn't be happier, and Ian feels about the same. The studio apartment's small but not cramped. It's clean with no signs of mold, bedbugs or water damage. There's some storage space, which is good because even though Mickey has barely any belongings, having a kid is going to mean buying shitloads of stuff. 

The rent is pretty reasonable, too. The only thing it doesn't have going for it are thin walls and a weird lingering smell in the closets, but if Mickey can live with that, Ian's happy for him. 

"What do you think, Mia?" Mickey asks her, even though she's been sleeping since they left their hotel. "You won't have your own room yet, but it's nice, right?"

Ian puts an arm around him. "She'll love it."

"What about you?" Mickey says. "It's a one-year lease. You planning to be back before then?"

Ian wants to say yes, give him an easy answer and something to hold onto. But he doesn't want to lie. 

"I'm going to try," he says finally. "There's stuff with my job and my meds and getting an EMT license here that I need to do first. I don't want to half-ass this."

Mickey looks less than pleased with his answer. "And what am I supposed to do, just sit around with a kid all day, waiting for you? Do I look like a fucking housewife?"

"Don't--" Ian goes to cover Mia's ears. "Don't say that. Of course I don't want you to just wait for me. You can get a job, anything you want. But I can't let it get as bad as it did before."

"Before, when?"

"Mick, the last time I didn't have meds and I was manic, I ran off with your kid. I never want to do that again."

Mickey tightens his arms around Mia's carrier. "I get that. But you won't."

"I don't--we don't know that," Ian persists. "I want to be stable, for both of you. I need to take care of myself. And the best way I can do it is not fucking things up with my bipolar."

"I just don't want to do this alone."

"You won't," Ian replies. "You can get some new ID and start over. Mia can grow up here. You'll just have to be careful."

"I know that!" Mickey snaps. "But Christ, Ian, you're the one who's good with kids and taking care of the house and shit. I always had someone to do that stuff for me, or with me. Mandy, Svetlana, you...." He bites his lip. "I can't do this on my own. I'm not saying I want you acting the way you were before, but...shit, man, at least we were together before it all went to hell."

Ian understands Mickey's not trying to be selfish, he's just stuck in survival mode. He wants to feel safe, especially now that he's got another baby to look after and no one else to help out.

"Let's talk to the landlord about the security deposit," Ian says, mostly to get Mickey's mind off of being a single parent. "Then we need to go somewhere."

"Where?"

"You'll see."

***

At the local town hall, Mickey applies for a real photo ID and a birth certificate for Mia. The trick is fudging just enough details so that his information doesn't prompt any background checks. And there's the issue of what name to put under "Father" on the birth certificate.

"I'm not putting his name on there," Mickey gripes. "It's bad enough I gotta put mine under 'Mother,' for fuck's sake."

"I'll put my name down," Ian tells him. 

Mickey looks surprised. "Seriously? You know that's legally binding and if anything happens to me, she lives with you, right? You'd be her dad."

Ian smiles at him. "I know. I want this, Mick. I wasn't sure I'd ever have kids, but I want one with you."

Mickey kisses him right there in the hallway, and Ian signs his name proudly across from Mickey's on the paper.

***

Once the paperwork is done and the lease on the apartment is signed, Mickey goes back to the hotel with Mia while Ian grabs them some dinner.

He walks back slowly, savoring the feeling of accomplishment that he's had since they signed Mia's birth certificate. He's doing this right. He's looking out for all of them, but also keeping his own needs in mind. It's not running away, it's laying groundwork for when he comes back. 

And yet, something's missing. 

He walks by a tiny shop, glances at the display window, and stops in his tracks. 

That's it.

***

When he gets back to their room, Mia is crying. 

"Somebody's overtired," Ian guesses, watching Mickey pace the small room, jiggling her in his arms to get her to calm down.

"Yeah, that makes two of us," Mickey sighs. "Yevy used to like being sung to, but I can't fu...dging sing."

Ian laughs out loud. "Did you just censor yourself?"

Mickey looks embarrassed. "I don't want her first words to be 'Fuck you.' At least not until she's two."

"Try humming," Ian suggests, putting the bag of Chinese food down on the bureau. "She won't know the difference."

Mickey takes his advice, and for a minute Ian just watches them. He loves seeing Mickey bond with his daughter. He remembers how much Mick resisted being a dad the first time around. It took him weeks to hold or change Yevy without being asked. This time, even though Mia was as unplanned as Yevy, Mickey's stepping up all on his own. 

And now she's Ian's daughter, too--at least, as far as the Mexican government is concerned. He can't really wrap his mind around it. Two weeks ago, if someone had told him this was where he was about to end up, he would have called them crazy. Delusional, even. But here he was, and he was happy.

"Ay, we gonna eat or just stand around all night?"

Ian comes back to reality and sets out the containers. Mickey puts Mia down gently in her hotel-issue crib and grabs some food for himself. 

"I'm taking a bus back across the border tomorrow afternoon," Ian says as they eat. "I got a prepaid phone for you, and I'll call you every week until I figure out when I can get back."

Mickey nods. "Sounds good." He sits down on the bed, wincing a little. 

"Still sore?"

Mickey shrugs. "Better than I was, but I don't think I'm up for a night of farewell fucking."

Ian snorts. "That's okay, we can do anything you want. I guess I kind of owe you that much."

"Hey, don't be like that," Mickey insists. "I'm always going to be in your debt just for the way you helped deliver Mia." He glances over at her crib. "I don't think I could've done it without you."

Ian disagrees, but doesn't say as much. He's really glad he was there, because the thought of how many things could have gone wrong terrifies him.

They chat about stuff that doesn't really matter just to fill the silence. Ian gets a call from one of the nannies he talked to earlier that week, Flora. He gives his phone to Mickey, who talks to her for ten minutes and looks relieved when he hangs up.

"She's coming by tomorrow for an interview," he says with a smile. "Hope she's good. She's got three kids at home and she's been doing this for ten years, so she must be."

Ian smiles back. "Hope so." He starts tossing empty containers in the trash, then remembers what he stopped to buy for Mickey. He digs the pre-paid flip phone out of his pocket and hands it to him.

"Here."

"Thanks," Mickey says, then turns it over and sees what's taped to the back. He freezes.

"...The fuck is this?"

Ian's breath catches in his throat and he starts trembling, but he plows on ahead.

"Mick, will you marry me?"

Mickey's jaw drops, and he blinks up at Ian like he didn't hear him. "What?"

Ian isn't sure if he should get down on one knee or not, so he repeats the question. 

"Mickey Milkovich, will you marry me?"

Mickey's eyes are actually tearing up. "Yeah. Yes. Fuck yes, Gallagher!" 

Ian laughs and practically throws himself at Mickey, who's half-risen from the bed to grab him and they end up in an awkward pile on the bed, kissing like there's no tomorrow. It isn't until Mickey groans and shifts under him that Ian props himself up on his elbows to take his weight off.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?"

"No, I'm good," Mickey says, holding his stomach. "Just tender."

"Where's the ring?" Ian says, glancing around them. He grabs the phone that Mickey dropped on the floor, with the simple silver band taped to the back. "You don't have to wear it, you can just keep it--"

"Fuckin' A I'm gonna wear it!" Mickey says, grabbing the phone out of Ian's hand and tearing off the tape. He holds the ring hesitantly, glancing at his hands. 

"Which one does this go on?"

Ian shakes his head. "It's technically a wedding ring, but you can wear it on whichever hand you want. It doesn't matter."

Mickey slides it onto his left hand and looks at it. "Nice. Now I won't get hit on so much."

Ian laughs. "Did you get hit on a lot before?"

"I spent time in gay clubs and prison, what d'you think?" 

They kiss again, and neither of them can stop smiling.

"So are we setting a date, or--?"

"Anytime," Ian breathes. "But I want to be back for good before then. Can you wait that long?"

Mickey leans his forehead against Ian's. "I asked you to wait for me for eight years once, remember?"

"I don't like to, but yeah."

"Well, get your ass back here before Mia's in grade school. Can you do that?"

***

The next day at the bus stop, Ian doesn't want to leave them.

He's holding Mia, kissing her head and promising that he'll come back with tons of presents and show her picture (of which he's taken about a dozen, easily) to all her new aunts and uncles. 

"They're going to love you so much," he tells her. "You even look like your aunt Debbie, and you've got a little cousin who's close to your age." He hesitates. "I don't know when they'll get to meet you, but I promise they will someday."

"Your bus is coming," Mickey says, and Ian's heart clenches when he sees the Greyhound coming towards them. It's too soon. He needs more time. 

"Mick--"

"Ian, you are getting on that bus if I have to throw you in with the luggage," Mickey cuts him off with a finger in his face. "Go home, get your shit together, and get back here. We'll figure everything else out later. Okay?"

Ian's never been more glad to be marrying this man. "Okay." He hands Mia back to Mickey. 

"Say hi to everyone back home for me," Mickey says, looking down and away like he does when he tries not to cry. 

"I will. And hey, if Mandy calls me back--"

"I'll talk to her first," Mickey interrupts. "You were right before. I need to tell her." He smiles down at the baby. "She's gonna be thrilled."

By now the bus is here and Ian can't stall any longer. He hoists his backpack onto his shoulder and Mickey pulls him in with one arm for a long hug. Ian grips his shirt and murmurs, "I love you."

"Love you too." Mickey lets go and forces a smile. "You know where to find us."

Ian smiles, braces himself and boards the bus. Once he's in his seat, he turns to the window to wave as the bus pulls away. 

Mickey waves back, his ring glinting in the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> "I'll write a little oneshot fic," I said. "It won't be a very long story," I said. Four days and twenty-six pages later, this was done.
> 
> I don't think of this as a "fix-it" for season 7, but I did want to give Mickey and Ian a happier "ending" than what they got.
> 
> More to come!


End file.
